Where He's Needed
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: In their first days as roommates, some things need to be addressed. Pre-movie, friendship


Title: Where He's Needed

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes

Genre: Pre-movie

Rating: PG

Summary: In their first days as roommates, some things need to be addressed.

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In the first weeks after my acquiring rooms with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I spent a good amount of time arranging, then rearranging, the space in my new home. It wasn't much, an office I could possibly one day use for my profession alongside a closet-sized bedroom, the only room in the lodgings I wasn't fond of.

Holmes had offered to take it, no doubt seeing my face as I spread out the linens but I merely shook my head at him. It wasn't the room but the hours I know I'd be spending there - sleepless or worse, slumbering and riddled with nightmares.

I hadn't yet recovered from my experience in Afghanistan. Far from it; I was at this point just restored enough from my physical injuries to have to start facing my emotional hurts which were myriad. I'd rather be dead than be back in Kandahar, yet I could hardly get used to being home.

It was a hellish in-between place to be existing -- a fate I'd wish on no man.

During this time I had little inclination to begin my practice anew, as was advised by my former superiors. In fact, I had little inclination to do anything but sleep and try not to wager my meager pension away on boxing matches and dice. This tedium was only relieved by walking Gladstone through the park where I'd often sit and stare at sights that should have been welcome and familiar but filled me with nothing but a hollow feeling of disconnect, as if I no longer belonged in a world without war, death and bloodshed.

It was, I suppose, lucky I had little inclination toward drink or I should have made a souse of myself in record time.

It was on one of these days, too dreary for walking that I lie on my bed, listening to the rain beat against the windows when a terrific _bang_ sounded from Holmes' room.

Part of me flinched as if it were gunshot, the other part knew for certain that Holmes had done something incredibly stupid at that chemical table of his. The man was brilliant but sloppy and when one played with noxious chemicals in an imprecise manner ...

With great trepidation I knocked on his door, an acrid smell already filling my nostrils. "Holmes?"

"Come in, please."

He sounded calm, which was good, I guessed. "I'm sorry, but I heard ... my god! Holmes!"

I had taken a bad guess. Thick smoke filled the room choking me with its stench. Blindly, I ran to open a window and when some of it finally cleared away, I saw Holmes standing there, soot-covered and deeply embarrassed, as if I were his mother catching him at some naughty act. "Um, I think I might have spilled something that needed not to have been spilled."

"Are you all right?" I examined his face which was terrifically dirty, but otherwise unharmed.

He glanced down at his hands and swallowed. I followed his view and hissed when I saw them. They were burnt - not horribly, but badly enough, the blisters quick in forming. His right palm was already one large bubble of watery skin, the angry red of his fingers and wrists told me everything else I needed to know. "I'm not one hundred percent, Watson, but once I finish ..."

"You're finished," I said and firmly tugged him into my office. "Sit."

"But this experiment ..."

"Was a spectacular failure. I'm impressed. You don't fail often, Holmes but when you do it's a sight to behold. Don't touch anything." It took me a little time to gather my supplies but when I did, my old energetic efficiency returned and I was able to treat him with ease. I was not happy that he was hurt, but I have to admit that I very much enjoyed being useful again - the feeling had been foreign to me for too long.

He, on the the other hand, was not the slightest bit happy. "Must you use so much bandaging? My right hand is a perfect mitten and my left not that much better." He held his hands up as if to illustrate. "Mitten."

"Burns have a very high risk of infection," I told him as I wrapped, trying to allow him as much use of his left hand - the one less injured - as possible. "But if you feel like complaining, I can amputate now and save us the trouble."

This quieted him. He sat through the rest of my treatment with minimal interruptions, possibly due to the pain finally starting to reassert itself along shocked nerves. I gave him a tincture of laudanum and he appeared very grateful indeed.

"I'm assuming I'll be handicapped for two to three days." It was a statement, not a question.

"Once the blisters have broken and dried, I'll be able to redress your hands more comfortably."

"This is going to be most difficult. I suppose playing the violin ..."

"Will be done with your feet and if you manage it, do tell me. I'll look forward to your debut at the circus."

A bit of a grin curved his lips. "It sounds like a challenge."

"I see we're all going to suffer from your misfortune," I replied, but gently as I knew he must have been in pain and unwilling to complain. "Don't fret. I'll be glad to be your hands for the next few days."

His eyebrow crept up. "Really?"

"Of course," I replied cheerfully. Helping Holmes was certain to be more interesting than hibernating in my bed and listening to Gladstone snore. Besides, how difficult could it be?

I only said this, you see, because I'd not been living with Holmes very long by this point or I would have certainly known better.

It started at tea. I was happy to pour, even help him sip as his bound fingers were too unsteady to hold the cup. He managed bits of cake and it wasn't until his nose began to wriggle did I get suspicious. "It itches."

I peered at him over the rim of my cup. "Then scratch it."

"Not my nose. Between my shoulders." He reached back ineffectually with his left hand. "I can't quite reach and if I try too hard I might undo the wraps. Although if you don't mind if the wraps become undone ..."

With a sigh, I rose and scratched his back, trying not to roll my eyes at his pleased groan. I might have stopped but it was amusing and pleasant to see him react so positively so I kept at it, adding in a neck rub for good measure. "Better?"

"You're an amazing physician. I'm going to be jealous when your schedule becomes overrun with patients. You _are_ in the midst of setting up your practice, aren't you?"

My face turned hot. "I'm ... working on it."

He took in that lie, which he knew was a lie, with his usual calm demeanor. "You should move quickly. The first step to regain that which we have lost is to indulge in what moves us most as human beings. You are a healer, Doctor and should act as one."

I pondered those words, wincing as I was at their directness. He was certainly an irritating man but I couldn't deny that he told the truth forthrightly, with only good intentions. "If you don't need anything else," I stated politely, rising from my chair. "I'll leave you. Good night, Holmes."

If I was expecting a repreive back to my rooms, how wrong I was.

"Leave me?" he gasped, with baffled indignation. "Don't need anything else? My dear Watson, I have a list of needs that I barely have time to articulate. How shall I eat supper? Go through my correspondence? Rearrange my books, which have suffered long enough from disorganization? I must bathe. Dress. _Undress_ ...." He snorted. "Leave me. Really, your jests are ludicrous."

My mouth fell open. Through the study door, Gladstone's sturdy form waddled in for the first time and sat down at Holmes' grate, immediately falling into a deep, snoring slumber. "At least he understands that he should be where he is needed," Holmes said. "Wise beast."

Momentarily stunned, I looked from Holmes to Gladstone, then back to Holmes again. It sounds strange to recount but it was at that moment I knew I was truly home and as annoyed I was at Holmes' silly demands, I felt more energetic and hopeful than I had in months.

I sat back down in the armchair that became then as it is now, _my_ chair. I poured us more tea and watched as he wriggled again, motioning toward his back. "Itches."

Raising my cup, I merely laughed. "Only the first one is free, Holmes. A doctor can't live on good intentions alone."

He smiled at me. "Indeed."

~_~

end

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